


Finding Home: Epilogue

by FoMT



Series: Finding Home [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mob Boss Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27028618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoMT/pseuds/FoMT
Summary: Almost a year after the battle and leaving Novigrad, Ciri returns home.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Finding Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970062
Comments: 16
Kudos: 114





	Finding Home: Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> As this is an epilogue, it won't make a great deal of sense if you haven't read Finding Home first, so I highly suggest doing that. 
> 
> This is the final bit I have written for this series, so it's tentatively finished now. If any additions strike me in the future I may come back and add something, but for now I'll leave them here.

It took about two weeks traveling with the circus to make it back to Novigrad. The journey was thrilling. Ciri remembered wistfully telling Geralt one night how she wished to travel like they did, to be free, and here she was, fulfilling her dreams. Valdo and Aegar were very considerate, teaching her various tricks of the trade and providing her with food, shelter, and company. In return, she promised them protection on the road. There had been little more than wild dogs and bandits the whole way—no trouble at all, really—and she felt, a little guiltily, like she hadn't really earned her keep.

Nonetheless, it had been nearly a year since Ciri was last in Novigrad. The closer they got to the formidable outer walls of the city, the more restless she became. The rolling hills and expansive forests petered out into hovels and fields, then more strongly built infrastructure closer to the city. She didn't think she'd miss it—she and Geralt were similar in that crowds weren't exactly their favorite—but for some reason she did. The only memories of Novigrad she could recall this close to returning were ones of laughing with Jaskier, dancing with Geralt, and arm wrestling with Zoltan. She could only vaguely remember the decorations on the first floor of the Chameleon, and wondered if they'd changed.

By the time the troupe passed the first bridge heading into the city proper, Ciri's gaze was focused more often than not on the gates, and she stumbled multiple times over nothing. Valdo pulled her aside. "Darling, we're in Farcorners already. Go on, you don't have to wait."

She hadn't meant to be so distracted. "No, I promised I'd help set up—"

Valdo was having none of it. "We do this all the time, Ciri. Will hardly take a moment, even without your help. Don't worry about it."

She was hesitant to leave when she still felt so indebted, but couldn't deny the pull steering her back towards the gates. She turned to them again even as she responded. "All right, if you're sure. Thanks for everything, I'll come back to visit."

She tried to pace her steps, but soon found her feet flying over the bridge towards Glory Gate. The walls towered above her, blocking the morning sunlight as she got closer. Though past the zenith of summer, the heat hadn't quite dipped yet into comfortable fall temperatures, and the light sweat cooling on her arms in the shade made her shiver slightly. She almost could have mistaken it for excitement.

The guards were much less strict about paperwork this time, and there was no line of refugees waiting outside the gates. They barely looked at Ciri's documents, unrolling the certificate only halfway to see the stamp of approval before handing it back over. Ciri's eyes were set farther in the distance, trying to see the rooftop of the Chameleon over the row of houses on the right, and she took her papers back blindly before stumbling forward into the morning city traffic.

The city noise was cheerful. Bakers called out, advertising their fresh morning loaves, and stacks of packaged goods and vegetables rolled down the muddy streets bundled into hand carts or strapped to donkeys. The red tile roofs made for a duller landscape than the emerald forests or cerulean rivers she'd been exploring all year, but the streets seemed suffused with sunlight, despite the early hour. She rushed around the plodding carts and through lines of people milling about stalls on the sides of the street, until she turned a corner and skidded to a stop.

In front of her was the Chameleon, just as she remembered it. There were no dancers or musicians advertising outside, but even so she could almost picture them in her mind's eye, the way they would be that very night. So caught up in memorizing every detail of the building she now was realizing was her new home, it took a few moments to realize she was being called.

"Little miss! You're back! Aw, the boss'll be thrilled," a passing dwarf called, veering off his intended route to greet her. His partner, a dark-haired elf, watched him go for a moment, before sighing and following.

"Oh!" Ciri gasped, blinking a few times to reorient herself. She didn't recognize either of them. "Um, you mean Geralt? Is he inside?" She wasn't quite used to hearing Geralt referred to as "boss." It had, in fact, been quite a number of months since she'd heard him referred to in any way at all.

"Nah, the boss's out on business, methinks. But the Master Bard should be in there, still." The elf tugged impatiently at the dwarf's shoulder. "Ah, right, we've rounds to get to. Good morning to ya, miss!" the dwarf called as he was pulled away. Ciri gave a slight wave, then approached the building slowly. This close to her destination, the excitement fluttering in her stomach was feeling much more like nervousness. Which was silly. There was nothing to be nervous about.

She opened the door slowly and peered around, squinting a little. The chandeliers and candles were lit, but it was still dimmer inside than the morning sunlight. The dim lighting and dark walls made for an intimate atmosphere, something Jaskier always stressed was very important for a late-night entertainment facility. The stage was empty, as were most of the tables, but there were some people—humans and non-humans alike—scattered about with food and watered down ale. As her eyes adjusted, Ciri could pick out Jaskier chatting with someone at the bar. She smiled as he leaned so far over the surface that his feet left the floor, wrapped up in whatever he was explaining.

She closed the door behind her and waited next to it, arms crossed, until the person Jaskier was talking to noticed her, and gestured him to look. The dawning joy on Jaskier's face as he saw her made her feel incredibly fond, and as she uncrossed her arms in preparation for a hug, he charged across the room, stumbling over benches and running into table corners all the way.

"Ciri!" he cried, jumping the last few feet towards her. She caught him and stood him upright next to her, leaning her head on his shoulder. The smell of him was innately comforting to her now, she realized, feeling the tension slough off. He continued babbling, petting her hair, and kissing her cheeks and forehead. "Oh, it's so good to see you. Have your travels been eventful? You have to tell me everything—oh, but maybe once Geralt's back, you know he's just as eager to hear what you've been up to. It's been so long since your last letter, we were getting worried—though I suppose you were just on your way back, weren't you? Oh, we missed you so—"

"It's good to be home," she mumbled into his shoulder, and she could hear his teeth clack together as he shut up, holding her closer. After a moment, someone else entered, and the door swinging open so close to them broke the moment.

"Well," Jaskier said, pushing her away just far enough to see her face, "are you hungry? Tired? We can get you settled in the room you used last time, if you like. Geralt should be back by midday, so save your exciting stories for then." She hummed and nodded, vaguely agreeing to be fussed over, and Jaskier brought her to her room to drop her bags and sword (one of the few places she'd wander around without it, she thought with a smile), then brought her back down to tempt her to eat some freshly baked sweet buns with butter. She wasn't particularly hungry, but the buns smelled good, and all of a sudden she felt too tired to argue, as though all the fatigue that built up over her year away was compounding onto her at once.

While ripping up small bites of the bread, she distracted herself by watching Jaskier flit about the room. He was as energetic as she remembered him being—talking to someone at the bar, stopping by to check on her, fiddling with his lute, greeting someone at the door… But regardless of his expression, which changed from moment to moment, she could see the pure contentedness rolling off of him. There was a looseness to his joints, a casualness in his movements that spoke to a deep comfort in this routine.

Ciri couldn't keep track of the time, but she watched as Jaskier turned towards the creaking of the front door, and almost before he even faced it, he was tumbling forward in a run. "Geralt!" he shouted, leaping for him in a dive that would've taken anyone else down. Even unprepared though, Geralt barely stumbled, and instantly wrapped his hands around Jaskier's thighs to hold him close. Jaskier must've said something in his ear, because not a second later Geralt looked up to meet her eyes, and a huge grin broke out on his face, that he hid in Jaskier's shoulder. Geralt carried Jaskier over, and Ciri stood, a thin line of tension forming as she tried to guess what sort of reaction he'd give. He was holding Jaskier, were they just going to talk? Would she be pulled into a hug? Her lips twitched as she tried to keep her smile through the sudden bout of butterflies.

Geralt gently plopped Jaskier on the table one seat down from her, then stepped forward to pull her into a hug. She breathed out deeply, then in again, noting with a widening smile that Geralt's smell wasn't all that different from Jaskier's, now. When had that happened?

"Welcome home, Ciri," he rumbled in her ear. It was the first time someone else had said it, and it was exactly what she'd been waiting for.

"I'm home, dad," she whispered back. Jaskier grinned unabashedly at her over Geralt's shoulder, then called for food. They ate at Geralt's little booth in the back, and she mostly ignored her soup in favor of detailing her trip back, starting from the most recent bits and going back all the way to her last letter. She spooned a quick mouthful only when Jaskier fussed about it, still not quite hungry, and not likely to be hungry at all for her entire visit with them. She could see a pattern forming with Jaskier. There would be no dearth of food in this household. She hadn't yet decided how long she would stay, figuring they deserved at least a week or two of her time, and after that, the road would eventually call her back.

When the dishes were cleared, Geralt ruefully excused himself for another afternoon of duties, and Jaskier gave him a chaste kiss goodbye on the lips. It was so quick, Ciri didn't really have time to think about it, but even afterwards it didn't bring the weird squirmy feeling of parents kissing that she felt in childhood, watching her grandmother and Eist. Nor, now that she thought about it, had she reacted earlier, when Jaskier basically climbed Geralt like a tree. Maybe it was because Jaskier was just like that, so the affection didn't seem new or awkward. As though confirming her thoughts, Jaskier slid over in the seat to press casually up against her side.

"So," she began just as he opened his mouth, "what have you been up to around here? Anything new in the past year?" Jaskier smiled, leaning forward on his crossed arms.

"Well, let's see… After my short stint in charge here, I've been helping out with the business more. Took a while, really, to get a good balance—I'm still running the Chameleon too, after all—but we figured things out. Geralt still handles all of the in-person, threatening bits, and I mostly take reports and consult on finances. Work closely with Dudu."

"Dudu! How is he?" Ciri asked. She didn't know him very well, but after the attack on the witch hunter barracks, he felt like a war friend to her. She could picture him happily paging through stack after stack of monetary figures and charts, though for some reason the room her mind conjured was Menge's office, now burned to the ground.

Jaskier grinned, sitting up a little and propping his chin up with his hands. "Oh, he's doing splendidly! He was a little shy around Geralt at first, but once he got comfortable, he's been giving some great financial advice. We're making more than three times as much as we were this time last year, thanks to him. Helped with restructuring costs, after we basically chased the witch hunters out of town." Ciri hummed thoughtfully. It was definitely more peaceful in Novigrad than she remembered. The dark cloud of prejudice that shadowed her memory of the city a year ago was nearly dissipated, though part of her cynically recognized that it may just be more well-hidden.

"Do you want to go see him?" Jaskier asked, startling her from her thoughts. Ciri nodded eagerly, excited to see more of the city.

Walking the city with Jaskier was much different from walking it with Geralt. For one thing, there was a lot more chatter. Jaskier would talk at her, not really looking for any response, and then shifted seamlessly into greeting the neighbors as they passed, striking up surprisingly long conversations with each one, given that they only had maybe a minute between coming in to shouting distance and leaving it again. Ciri looked on with a smile, imagining how Geralt must feel with Jaskier beside him like this.

Geralt had always had trouble with his emotions, but he was carefully frank with her since the beginning. As a child, she remembered watching him struggle to express himself in conversations with others, but always answer honestly when she asked him questions over the campfire. Jaskier seemed to be entirely free with his emotions, yet he lightened them with continuous meaningless chatter. She had seen them together many times among friends, and Jaskier always made Geralt more open and brighter, while Geralt seemed to calm Jaskier's frenetic energy. But she wondered what they looked like at night, alone together. They seemed to fit together so well. She imagined that, maybe, they didn't need words at all.

Lost in thought, Ciri didn't recognize they'd reached their destination until she almost bumped into Jaskier. "Oh! Sorry," she said, quickly stepping an appropriate distance away. Jaskier steadied her with a hand on her arm.

"No worries," he smiled. "We're here!" He waved grandly at the building, which actually started with a staircase down. Ciri hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, but the area looked minutely poorer than the one they came from. Not in any discernable way, but the people seemed slightly wearier, and their clothes maybe a tick more run down. The building in front of them was made of worn stone, and didn't look much different at all from the ones around it, but the door was guarded by a Skelliger and a dwarf, both of whom waved them through with a smile.

Inside, Ciri immediately placed the building as a casino. There were card tables crowded against every wall, only sparsely populated now, at midday. Jaskier shuffled her quickly up two flights of steps and to a small office. The room was lined with books, and filled even further with stacks upon stacks of paper. Looking tiny at his desk surrounded by these mountains of paper was Dudu. He steadily finished writing whatever he was in the middle of, and then looked up pointedly and broke into a grin.

"Jaskier! Ciri! Come to check up on me, have you?" he exclaimed, effectively navigating the slim path to the door and tucking a sheaf of reports under one arm on his way. He waved them back out into the hallway (Jaskier hadn't done more than open the door for them to poke their heads through in the first place) and into another room across the hall. "Good to see you, love," he said to Ciri, waving her through in front of him and directing her to sit on the nearest sofa with Jaskier, as he rounded to the other one, dropping his pile on the table in between. The setup was pushed to the side, and the rest of the room seemed to be the food and liquor storage, but having just come from Dudu's office, Ciri could see why they deemed this a more appropriate space for meetings. Dudu made appropriate small talk with them as they had a drink and caught up, but after a while Ciri got the idea that there was supposed to be a proper business meeting happening, and moved to excuse herself.

"Oh, you're going?" Jaskier sounded surprised.

"I thought… You looked like you had business to get through. I won't keep you, I wanted to look around the city anyways." Jaskier looked ready to object, but one glance at Dudu seemed to convince him not to. "See you back at the Chameleon? I won't be out past sundown." Jaskier nodded hesitantly, standing to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Alright, sweetheart. See you then."

Ciri meandered through the streets slowly, no particular direction in mind. She wasn't very familiar with the layout of Novigrad, so instead focused on taking in the sights. The Temple Guard still stood at major traffic points in pairs, idly watching the crowds. There were little boxes set up on many crossroads, but it was only when she crossed the canal into the central area of the city that she saw any occupied. She stopped to listen to one of priests, curious. He had what sounded like a rehearsed speech about the Eternal Fire's protection against the inhuman and the blasphemy of sorcery, but looking around, no one seemed to be listening. Ciri, after a moment, continued on her way too.

Eventually she wandered towards the docks, and followed them north, knowing that at some point they ended in a small beach. She watched the boats rock on the waves as she meandered down, so was entirely unprepared for the hurried figure running the opposite way. They collided, and both apologized, and the boy rushed on his way, dodging other workers and wanderers populating the docks. In the space he left, Ciri saw Geralt, talking to a group of elves and humans in front of the open door of a warehouse.

She stared, wondering if she'd be interrupting his work by going up and saying hi. He wasn't exactly smiling, nor was he saying much, judging by the lack of movement of his mouth, but his face was relaxed and his eyes bright, which was the Geralt equivalent of a smile, really, and he seemed to be listening intently to the group. Finally, he said a few words, laid a hand on one of the elves' shoulders, and the whole crowd nodded and went into the warehouse. Geralt turned to walk away, but noticed Ciri first and smiled, gesturing her closer.

She trotted up to him. "Wasn't sure if I would be interrupting," she explained unnecessarily. He shook his head.

"All done now. Where were you off to?"

She shrugged, starting to walk again. "The beach." Geralt quirked his eyebrow. "Isn't there a sandy bit towards the end of the docks?" Geralt hummed, frowning slightly. "What."

"Not very safe. Lot of back alley deals and beggars."

This time Ciri frowned. "I'm not a little girl anymore," she complained. "I can take care of myself." He grumbled, mostly for show, and touched her back, once, lightly.

"I know," he added with a quick smile. They walked a bit further, then Ciri pointed to a Skellige longship in the harbor and recalled the battle from a year ago. It had been a trying time, after a trying year, and she was retroactively glad, once again, that Geralt had been there for her. Geralt listened patiently, as he always did, only adding little quips that made her snort, and clarifying questions to get her to continue. Even though he'd been there for this one, Geralt always seemed to genuinely enjoy her stories, and it sent a wave of nostalgia over her for their travels together.

When they stepped onto the beach, Ciri ran to admire the surf, dipping the toes of her boots in, before joining Geralt for a walk down the beach. There were a number of little fishing huts that looked poorly repaired, and some rickety docks jutting out into the water. As Geralt said, there were beggars around, some of whom clearly lived there on the beach, surrounded by their piles of junk. All of them looked at Geralt as they passed, but none of them approached.

"Beggars pay respects to the King of Beggars," Geralt explained quietly. "My colleague. They won't dare approach." He then pointed out one of the huts. "See that? Fought a katakan there, once." She knew he was trying to distract her from the suddenly heavy atmosphere brought about by mentioning "work," but she was grateful. She eagerly started asking questions, and they chatted all the way up the beach and back, Geralt even reenacting moves from the battle.

They were knocking the sand off their boots, safely back on the docks, when Geralt said wistfully, "that was only a month or two after coming here to Novigrad." Ciri stopped knocking her heels together, looking over at him in surprise. He'd never told her the full story of why and how he moved to Novigrad, though she'd heard bits and pieces from Lambert and the others.

He noticed she'd stopped moving, and looked up at her questioningly from where he's bent over to brush sand off his boots. She opened her mouth, closed it, spun side to side a few times, and finally settled, arms crossed, against the railing of the docks. She didn't know what to say. Geralt finished dusting off his shoes and stood to full height, then jokingly offered her his elbow (just to see her huff, no doubt) and she strode back down the docks, Geralt right behind her.

When she'd gathered her words, she stopped suddenly, and Geralt, with his impeccable witcher senses, stopped short right behind her, not even stumbling. Damn him sometimes. "Why Novigrad?" she asked, not turning around.

She could hear him shift behind her. "I don't know," he said finally. "First place I thought of. Then again… maybe it was Destiny? After all the shit things Destiny put me through," here he soothed her with a hand from her shoulder down her arm, squeezing as if to say _not you. Never you_ , "maybe this was one last piece of good to make up for all the bullshit. I…" Geralt cut off for so long, Ciri turned around to see what was wrong. He was staring off into the distance, a small smile on his face. When she turned, he pulled her in to rest his chin on her head. "Despite everything, I've been incredibly lucky. I have you, I have my brothers. I have Jaskier. I have a home and community that look up to me. I have work that I don't hate, and enough money to live comfortably. If this was also Destiny… maybe Destiny isn't all bad."

They parted soon after, and Ciri returned to the Chameleon while Geralt went on to his next meeting. Ciri stayed downstairs for a while, chatting with the gang members wandering in and out, until she was struck by a sudden bout of exhaustion and went upstairs. She laid on her bed, eyes on the ceiling, but didn't sleep. She must have zoned out for a long time, because by the time she came fully around to consciousness again, the sun was going down. She splashed water from the basin on her face, wiped it with her shirtsleeve, and scurried down the stairs, afraid that Jaskier might not know she was back and get worried.

The first floor was a lot more crowded than it was during the day. The entertainment hadn't started in full yet, but there was a lutist playing some soft background music as the waitresses rushed around serving tankards of beer and goblets of wine. Geralt's booth was empty, but a quick scan of the room found the two of them huddled in conversation with Zoltan and a blond troubadour Ciri hadn't met.

She watched them from the stairs. It was bizarrely comforting, watching her loved ones go about their everyday lives. Jaskier and the woman seemed to get into a frantic, playful argument as Geralt and Zoltan stood back, smirking and shaking their heads at them. Eventually Geralt stepped in, lifting Jaskier bodily away with an arm around his waist, and kissed him soundly to divert his attention. Jaskier struggled for a moment or two, then subsided, wrapping his arms and legs fully around Geralt and kissing back. This time, Zoltan and the woman ganged up in what looked like catcalling, until eventually Jaskier broke away to laugh. The scene was so warm and friendly and _right_ that Ciri couldn't stand being apart from it any longer. She leaped down the remaining few stairs and weaved hurriedly through the crowds towards them.

Geralt clearly heard her approach, because just as she broke through the last of the crowd, she heard him saying, "…and this is my daughter, Ciri. Ciri, come meet Priscilla. She's a friend of Jaskier's, helps out with performances here sometimes." Jaskier took this time to wiggle back out of Geralt's arms, but didn't move any further away. Geralt's free hand now came around to Ciri's shoulder, pulling her closer into their circle.

Priscilla scoffed. "Oh, Jaskier's friend, am I? So _we're_ not friends at all, after knowing each other for nearly two years? Of course not, let's give it another decade or so." Geralt huffed and shook his head and played at exasperated, but he was smiling. Satisfied that her joke landed, Priscilla turned to Ciri and held out a hand. "Very good to meet you, Ciri. You won't _believe_ how much I've heard about you."

Ciri snorted. "I might. Nice to meet you too." Priscilla quickly excused herself to start the "real" entertainment of the evening, and the remaining four of them retired to Geralt's favorite booth. A waitress soon served them an impressive spread of various cheeses, breads, pâtés, and fruits, along with one bottle of what looked like unlabeled distilled spirits with two tumblers, and a bottle of red wine with two wine glasses. It was only by coincidence that Ciri glanced over in time to catch the silent conversation between Jaskier and Geralt as everything arrived. _I can't believe you did this for me!_ Jaskier's eyes sparkled. Geralt's nuzzle back was most certainly an _of course I did. Anything for you, my love._ Or something to that effect. It was mushy and sweet and Ciri had to quickly divert her eyes away before she got caught staring.

Out loud, Jaskier exclaimed, "the 1265 Fiorano from Castel Ravello? Oh, you remembered!" He tilted his head and put a hand on Geralt's cheek to turn him into a kiss. Zoltan watched for a moment, then shook his head and poured the spirit into the provided tumblers, knocking one across the table for Geralt. He caught it without looking. Stupid witcher mutations.

The wine was poured for Ciri and Jaskier, and Jaskier babbled to her excitedly about how this was his favorite wine, and this year of it was supposed to be particularly good, all the while leaning wildly over Geralt's lap. Geralt seemed to be extremely used to it, and used one hand to steady Jaskier, and the other to drink and pick at the food. It was bemusing to watch, but for the first time that day, Ciri found herself having very little time for outside observation. Jaskier chatted with her constantly, and pointed out particularly skillful stage performances that sucked her in. When Priscilla's performance was over, she came back to the table with more wine and they played round table gwent, where everyone not participating in the game called out recommended plays or heckled the players. The atmosphere was warm and comforting, possibly because of the wine, but Ciri didn't think so.

After a while, Ciri found her energy begin to droop, and Geralt caught her shoulder as she slumped into him. "Time for bed?" he asked, starting to move without an answer. She gave a sleepy hum, and tried to shake herself awake enough to wander upstairs. Embarrassingly, the combination of the wine and her exhaustion made her knees buckle as she tried to stand, and Geralt swept her up into his arms, with a hand under her knees and the other supporting her back.

She cuddled into his chest, but conversely muttered, "don't treat me like a princess."

She felt the puff of laughter more than heard it. "You actually _are_ a princess, you know."

Ciri pouted. She was having fun, she didn't want to be reminded of her birth parents. "'M not," she grumbled. "'M your daughter, so I'mma…" What did that make her. Her head was fuzzy, and she got distracted by the sensation of Geralt going slowly up the staircase. "I'mma… wolf… kit? No, cub?" What were words, anyways?

Geralt chuckled, kissing her gently on the forehead. "My wolf cub," he whispered, laying her down on her bed. He unlaced and removed her boots, then pulled up the covers. As he pulled away though, she reached out and grabbed his sleeve. He froze, waiting as she tried to work out why she stopped him. Her head was muzzy and rapidly spiraling towards unconsciousness, but it felt like there was something else to say.

She thought about the day, how it'd been so bright and happy, and even when she felt a little like an outsider, she was included. She thought of how it ended, in laughter that continued until everyone was gasping for air, in warm, familiar touches that she hadn't realized she was yearning for.

"Love you, dad."

Geralt smiled, and kissed her on the forehead again. "Love you, too."

_Maybe_ , she thought, _this is what home is supposed to feel like._


End file.
